


The Game Is Still On

by Yourdearestwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Drug Use, F/M, Feels, Gun play, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlockary - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Other, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 13:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1133135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yourdearestwatson/pseuds/Yourdearestwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock had a full four minutes of exile before England needed him again. The game is back on, plus three.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Game is on

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rookshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookshadow/gifts).



> The entirety of this fic is dedicated to my girlfriend. Because she is spoiled.

It was something completely unexpected, which was Sherlock's preference anyways. The call that came while he was in the jet didn't fit into his calculations, nor did standing in front of the two people that he truly did love only minutes later. Fist banging against his thigh awkwardly, he looked down at Mr. and Mrs. Watson, a smirk forming on his lips. John, his confused eyes hit the realization as to what was happening--John knew that look. That _damn_ look. The game was back on. Sherlock was back, even after John had already said goodbye. Finally, it was Mary that broke the awkwardness, waddling over, careful to place her arms around Sherlock and taking him into a tight hug. Sherlock, his hands open, ghosting his hands around her, finally landed on her back and relaxed into her touch. "Knew I'd be back," he blinked after she let go and chuckled at him. She knew he was lying. This didn't settle with Sherlock very well. She'd always know. Though, looking at her now as she returned to his best friend, he'd really have it no other way, if it were going to be someone--he'd rather it her than his annoying older brother. 

After returning to Baker Street, Sherlock and John sat in their chairs(Mary on the couch with her feet up,) watching the short clip over and over again that was on the telly; Sherlock in his normal position: feet crossed, elbows on his knees and his chin still on the tip of the steeple he's made with his hands. The clip was the same, every four seconds, mocking them with a robotic voice and a picture that moved a picture of Jim Moriarty's mouth like a dummy over and over again: _did you miss me, did you miss me, did you miss me... ___Sherlock took the liberty of just turning it off. The mockery was annoying and John could tell that Sherlock needed the utter silence. Now was the time to visit his mind palace, only once and a while muttering, "how," not really wanting an answer from anyone in the room, or perhaps, John mused, in Sherlock's own head.  
It had almost been weeks, John and Mary coming over once and a while and then it became just John due to the stairs becoming too much of a climb for the very pregnant Mary. She did however, request(more like demand, really,) Skype the minute that Sherlock started pacing and muttering to himself to the point that John was convinced that if Sherlock were to pace any more, he'd make an exact circular hole in the floor of 221B (which had been previously been a threat from Mrs. Hudson that he'd have to find a new city to live in to get away from her wrath--not entirely true, but it was still amusing in this sense.) 

_"Oh."_ Silence, broken. "Oh!" Sherlock's voice rose higher as he came over to John. "I'm an idiot!" 

"Well--" 

"No, John--" Sherlock turned from John who looked at Mary's giggling. He didn't get it. " _Oh._ " Sherlock continued, "that's brilliant!" He cheered. "Bloody brilliant---bit repetitious, but brilliant!" "Alright!" John's voice rose, gaining a grin from Sherlock that made his head shake. "What is it, then? How'd he do it?" Of course there was no answer that came from Sherlock, instead John heard his bedroom door close. Probably to change into something more proper than his pajamas and a robe. After a few minutes, he came back and John waited. Still, nothing. "Don't just sit there," Sherlock scoffed, locating his scarf and tying it around his neck. "The game is on!" With a flurry of his coat, he was already down the stairs without even waiting for John who was trying to put the wrong arm into his jacket and shouting at Sherlock to wait and bloody explain. 


	2. How to catch a Spider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, but how?!

Silence. John hated the on going silence that stood between the two brothers when neither of them either wanted to speak first, ask for help or worse--a favor. "No," Mycroft finally said, the word almost echoing between Sherlock and John.

"Brother mine," Sherlock's voice was mocking, and John rolled his eyes. Sherlock knew something, obviously, but John still didn't understand. "I didn't even say anything yet." Another moment of silence. "Mycroft," he started. "You and I both know what really happened on top of the rooftop that day," a glance at John and then back at his brother. "So, how is it," he brought his hands up to the bottom of his mouth which was smirking at his fuming older brother. "That Moriarty is alive?" 

Silence. "I don't know," came Mycroft's voice. When John looked up, Mycroft's pose was almost identical to Sherlock's.

"Sorry," John said, tilting his head, "You don't know?"

"You are not an unintellegent man, John, you know that is what I--"

"No," John replied firmly, "You don't understand," he turned to Sherlock, "then why the hell are we here?"

"John," Sherlock's hand went to John's knee bringing John's attention to Sherlock. "John, it isn't a matter of who knows," Sherlock watched John's brow knit together in further confusion. Nothing yet, obviously. Time to clear the air. "It's about how to catch him before anything happens." There it was, the light in the attic and the tell-tale _oh_ that gave John is ordinary-ness. 

"And that's where we come in," John nodded, finally getting it. 

"Knew you'd get there."Sherlock grinned, patting where his hand was. His attention went back to Mycroft, who now thread his fingers together, watching the two interact. "We discussed what we need," Sherlock said to Mycroft. 

"And I said no," Mycroft tilted his head ever so slightly, as if to dare Sherlock to change his mind. There was literal pain in Sherlock's face now, he grimaced and twisted his face, making John worry. 

"Fine," Sherlock grunted. "Fine. I--" He winced again, swaying his head as if he was trying to convince his voice to work. "I need you to do this."

"Now was that so hard," Mycroft lifted a vanilla file, and handed it to John. "This is a file on one Sebastian Moran," Mycroft informed as John opened the file. 

"Moran?" John frowned, interrupting Mycroft to look at Sherlock. "Like, as in Lord Moran?" Sherlock shook his head, drawing John's attention back to Mycroft. 

"Not quite," Mycroft agreed. "Meet Colonel Sebastian Moran--formally. Kicked out for going rouge. Started shooting people; hunting tigers for cash. Dishonorable discharge--just your type." A bitter chuckle from John and a growl from Sherlock. 

"Wait a minute," John said, flipping through the file, locating a photo. "I know him--well, not know, but I recognize his face." He showed it to Sherlock. "Sewed him up after a firefight, had a pint after. He's a bit of a twat, but I s'ppose all snipers are."

"Not just any sniper," Sherlock handed the photo back to John, "but with perfect aim--he was often called One Shot Moran, or so my brother keeps saying."

"Right, so, how does this connect with Moriarty?" John asked, folding the file back up, switching his look to either brother, waiting for an answer. 

"Shall I tell him or do you want to?" Mycroft's eyebrows lifted in amusement. "You do like to show off." 

Sherlock snorted and faced towards John, filtering Mycroft now. "Colonel Moran was--is-- Moriarty's second in command. You could say that Moriarty was like his General." A term that Sherlock knew that John could easily understand, and got a nod from his friend. "Moriarty and Moran must have planned this all out--or had a plan for if Moriarty didn't come back." 

"So, that's how we get Moriarty?" John asked, confusion dancing on his face once again. "Is get Moran?"

"Close," Sherlock smirked. "But you see, that's the thing," Sherlock said, now standing, taking the file from John. "Moriarty is dead," he placed the file into his jacket. "So, what is left? To get what is left of Moriarty--his _tiger._ "

"Tiger?" John asked, standing also, thinking that this was a sign to leave, but was only stood above by Sherlock, his eyes gazing down at Sherlock. 

"Nickname, John. Moran hunted tigers, and Moriarty knew this. Moran is a coldhearted murder and a hunter. He knows how to take a single shot from a rooftop and leave before anyone finds a trace of him." Sherlock got closer, closing the space between him and John. It was hardly noticeable by now, John had been in closer corners with the sociopath it barely bothered him. "Thus, the name he was given: Tiger. Or, as Moriarty so lovingly puts, _Tyger._ "

John frowned. "Like the William Blake poem?" 

"Yes. Bit telling, isn't it?" Sherlock swarmed around John now, buzzing around him, trying to get him to think. 

"Moran was--" John made a face. "You're meaning to tell me that Moriarty hired Moran for his shooting--and not just because of his military reputation?" A laugh from Sherlock.

"Guess he really _wasn't_ playing gay." John groaned at that. 

"Thank you, Mycroft," Sherlock headed towards the door. "You were certainly helpful---just this once." 

"Really?" 

"No, I said that to be polite." With that, Sherlock was out the door again without John who stood still quite flabbergasted as if it was too much to take in at once. 

"I really should have let him go to Europe," Mycroft complained, getting up from his chair and ushering John out of his office. "Do keep tabs on him," he reminded. 

"Right because we're still shy about the brotherly love thing, right?" John smirked as he went over the threshold of Mycroft's office and into the lobby. A firm look came from Mycroft and then a door slam that came inches from John's face. Turning, John was met by a very happy looking Sherlock. He was glad to see Sherlock this way--it had been too long since he'd seen Sherlock smile like that, and it wasn't fake. It was the few things that John could tell about Sherlock.  
"Ready then?" John asked, tugging his jacket on properly this time. 

"Lets go catch us a spider." 

"I think you mean tiger." 

"I'm never wrong."


	3. On the prowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini Sebastian chapter.

Smoke spilled from a shadowed mouth. It danced in the little sunlight that came from a window facing Baker street, and a certain flat that was there. This heist reminded Sebastian of the good old days when he'd been hunting tigers for a whole day, just to see where they slept or if there were others. Now, in a cramped room that smelled too much like mold he scowled at the taxi that pulled up next to the door that led inside to the flat tempted to spit at the man in the large coat. Soon, he reminded himself. 

Quietly, he watched Watson and Holmes outside the door. It was sort of adorable, and he could see what Jim had always talked about. Sherlock and John _did_ argue like an old married couple. It reminded Sebastian of Jim, how Sherlock brushed by John, leaving the smaller blond in a rage that only Sebastian could understand as frustration and lack of sleep. Now that Sherlock and John were in their little flat, Sebastian could focus on watching through the scope of his sniper. He wasn't going to shoot, but if his finger got itchy, he may shoot for that good looking woman that was always on Sherlock's couch. He'd always wanted to kill a tigeress before she got to litter the jungle with her cubs, and this may be a chance for him to do that here.  
Sadly, when Sebastian looked through his scope, the tigeress was not present. Instead, it was the two males that constantly fought or were in each others space. If one were female, he was sure they'd have mated by now. Even so, Sebastian mused that one day, these two men would just get it over with and get it all out of their systems with a dose of angry sex. After all, that was what Jim made him do when he got frustrated, angry or in general felt pent up. Sebastian was a sexual punchbag for Jim and that was fine. In his own opinion, he followed the two with his scope, those two needed it bad--with or without John's little pregnant tigeress. 

Finally, when it got dark enough, Sebastian turned his scope off so he wouldn't be spotted and turned to his binoculars. It would have been easier if he took 221C, but the risk was too high. He liked being this far. If he had a chance, he could still make a record time in getting the detective before the detective got him. This was not an option, of course to Sebastian. Lights turned out in Baker Street. John left too go home to his precious little wife, leaving Sherlock on how own to do the predictable: wank, and read into the night. Often the lights would turn on and Sherlock would be playing his violin or just sit in his chair thinking until finally, he migrated back to his room and stayed there for the remainder of the evening. 

Sherlock claimed that normalcy was above him, but this was normal compared to Jim's activity as far as Sebastian was concerned. Along with Sherlock's lack of sexual activity; Sherlock barely even wanked to get an orgasm out of it. It seemed more of a thing he did to entertain himself but never really had the guts to go through with it. Pretty little virgin just like Jim had said. It was amusing, just watching until the morning, getting to know the habits of his prey. He would stay a few more days and would disappear again to finish everything that he'd just started--just like according to plan.


	4. Of course its a trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock always knows. That arse.

In the cab, the smugness practically rolled off of Sherlock. It frustrated John to no end. Sherlock always knew, it was like he had this power against everyone that wasn't even on his level and he _liked it_ that way. It was a side glance that finally set John off. "Could you not do that?" He raged, hearing the low roar of a chuckle coming from Sherlock. "Please, Sherlock," John warned. "I'm not in the mood." Sherlock just smirked. 

"Irritable, seen it before." He started, seeing John's jaw clench. He hit a nerve: he was correct. He had seen it before: "your wife not into the _sex during pregnancy_ thing, John?" It was clear, that Sherlock was mocking him, not that he had much to mock seeing how his only relationship was a ruse. John stared him down. 

"I don't think it's your business." Was his reply, with flushed cheeks. It was a yes, as far as Sherlock was concerned. "so, I suggest you shut it." Another chuckle from Sherlock until the cab stopped. John decided to get out first, he was tired of paying. Close by, was Sherlock, hovering over him. "I'll leave," John threatened. 

"No, you won't." Sherlock smirked, inches from John now, as if they were staged. 

"I said, _get away from me_ " John growled, and frankly that tone of voice always sent shivers down Sherlock's spine. 

"No." Ever the petulant child, Sherlock buzzed around John. "I wasn't finished: you haven't had any sexual fix for over three months--that's a record for even you, isn't it?-- and you've worn that exact shirt two days in a row, haven't really shaved--don't do that again, we've talked about that--and," Sherlock paused to sniff at John, "ah," he confirmed, stepping somewhat away from John, "you've masturbated twice in my shower, using _my_ soap. Interesting choice when yours is still in there." John's eyes were almost dark by now, seething and just ready to burst. "Did I miss anything?" Sherlock was quite proud of himself, beaming with pride when John chuckled, almost bitterly. 

"You're right," he shook his head, hand clenching. Sherlock watched with a bit of nervousness--not that he wouldn't deserve a good punch in the face, he mused. John continued to shake his head. "Mary is turned off by sex right now. Only reason she doesn't burst at me is because she knows I'm still utterly pissed off at her for what she did--may let it go now that I remember how much of a git you are--" a laugh from Sherlock briefly interrupted. "And, I did use your soap. It doesn't look like mine does--you really should have thrown that out--and just not on my cock." No John had the smirk, waiting to see if Sherlock was brave enough to venture here. He had already tried to do this and John was interested to see how utterly frightened of sex he truly was." 

As soon as John said the word _cock,_ Sherlock's face flushed, making John feel as if he'd triumphed until Sherlock cleared his throat. 

"Always something." 

"Say it. Come on, out with it," John crossed his arms looking around, there was no one around. It was his moment."

"You also did your arse." Sherlock's voice was small, defeated. 

"My what, Sherlock? I'm an old man, got to speak up."

"Arse!" Sherlock clenched his hands in his coat. "Where you'd rather have sex anyways!" Sherlock shut his lips, horrified at himself. "Sorry," he said straight away. "Sorry, much further deduction than I wanted to say." 

"Deduction?" John scoffed. "I told you, I'm not gay." 

"No," Sherlock replied, a little awkwardly. "Not _gay._ "

"Are you trying to imply that you know my sexuality better than me now?" John's voice raised, getting no answer from Sherlock, instead he was reading a text. John grabbed at the phone and read what it had to say:

_You're worse than my old Boss and me. Just get it over with and have sex. Everyone's waiting. SM._

"SM?" John looked up at Sherlock, who was staring out into the streets, clearly thinking. "Sebastian Moran?" A nod. "Can he--oh god, can he see us?" 

"Yes," Sherlock's voice was slightly alarmed. "Continue fighting," he instructed. "Fight with me, and come into the flat with me," he instructed. 

"Same topic?" John replied coolly, Sherlock merely nodded as if he were being forced to. until they were inside, John was loudly denying that Sherlock could not tell the size of a penis biased on some really absurd facts that really did not make any sense at all to him. Finally, they were inside and Sherlock explained it to him, they both had to continue acting this way. It shouldn't be too hard, according to him. Their voices raised and angry sounding, John understood that this was their new way of communicating until further notice. It didn't necessarily bother John, but by the night was out, he was told to leave in a furious rage as if he needed air and wanted to check on his wife. The next morning, he was to come in, slam doors and act as if he was still frustrated or angry. This was not who John was, and he didn't quite understand what the idea was, but in short, trusted Sherlock. 

It was weeks that John had to act this way, and it had honestly started to annoy John because it seemed to just come naturally to Sherlock. Nothing ever bothered Sherlock. Finally, the text came. John was fresh out of the shower and already texting Mary that Sherlock and him were currently standing over a single text.:

_Pool. Midnight. SM_

"We aren't going." John stated. 

"Aren't we?" John scoffed at Sherlock who was already putting on his gloves. 

"No!" John protested, feeling actually upset this time when he raised his voice at Sherlock. "It's a trap, Sherlock." 

Sherlock frowned, giving John the _well, that's obvious_ look and shook his head. "That's the point, John. Come on---and grab your gun." 

"Sherlock," John stood, grabbing his gun and putting it in his coat, "we don't know what Moran's got. He advertised Jim Moriarty's face all over the United Kingdom. I really hope you've actually got a plan." 

"Of course I've got a plan, John," Sherlock's voice calm, alluring John to the case. After John's sigh Sherlock nodded towards the door, looking much like a puppy that needed out for a walk. 

John grabbed his coat and watched Sherlock bounce as he put it on. "You'd better explain the plan," John scolded, flapping his collar down and moving towards the door. "Because last time you did this, I found out my wife was lying to me." 

Sherlock stood at the door, keeping it propped for John, "now where's the fun in that?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Nothing." 

After getting at the pool, John pulled his gun out and walked carefully with Sherlock. The heavy doors shut behind them making an echo in the empty room. Heart beating, John stayed close to Sherlock, gun at ready as they both expected Sebastian to come out any moment and be like his former boss--show off everything and leave to make more of a mess. Another door opened and closed. John pulled back the hammer on his gun. 

"That's my gun." Came a voice that made John's stomach drop and churn. "Then again, you were always so sentimental."


	5. The wind blows in, pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An east wind is starting to blow in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next chapter, "The wind blows in" will come in parts, mostly because I am currently going through a lot of medical issues right now and can only write so much a day due to severe pain. Enjoy the cliffhangers!
> 
>  
> 
> PS: Thank you all for such a wonderful response so much, I really hope it's all worth it by the end. Don't be afraid to comment!

Sherlock was so close, John could smell his deodorant and feel the heat radiate onto him, taking the gun from his hand. "I know," Sherlock replied, feeling John's gaze intensify on him. "I wanted a souvenir."

"Aren't you a sentimental sweetheart?" The Shadow mocked. "When did you become so soft." With that, Moriarty stepped from the shadows with a nasty grin. "How many times are we going to meet here, Sherlock? At the pool, in the middle of the night. You, with a boner and a gun. I think," he sang, "someone is happy to see me!"

"I'm really not," Sherlock's voice was bland as he pulled the hammer back on the gun and pointing it at Moriarty. 

"Oh, just a bit," pouted Moriarty. 

"No."

"No?" Jim's pout turned back into that twisted, wicked smile that made John's stomach twist. "I know someone who _is_ glad to see you--both of you. But you," Jim pointed to John specifically, "especially, I bet." He lifted his head and called out into the corners of the pool, where his voice echoed his dark words, "Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how would you like to die?" Moriarty's face drooped back down to John who was clenching his jaw, trying very hard not to barrel into Moriarty's chest and beat the living shit out of him. "With Sherly dear, or Husband dear? What does your heart deligh'?" A demented giggle, as Mary was ushered in with the face John recognized as Moriarty's second hand, Moran. A gun at her back so if his finger got trigger-y, John would lose Mary and the baby. "Ah, Sebby, dear." Jim sounded more delighted as Mary was placed between them and received a very sloppy and very noisy kiss from Moriarty in front of Mary. "Shoot her."

"Wait!" John pleaded. "please," Jim held up a hand to Sebastian and looked at John. "What do you want?" John asked. "You already made Sherlock pay, me pay. Mary wasn't in this, and neither was our baby---please." 

"What I want," Jim smirked, "Is for you and Sherlock to share a sweet little kiss--I know he's been dying to give you one." 

"What, _Sherlock?_ wants to kiss me?" John looked at Sherlock who was not looking at him. "Seriously, him?"

"John, you might want to shut up now." 

"What?" John looked at Sherlock, "really? But I thought---"

"Just shut up, and do as he asks." John swallowed tightly and looked at Mary, who was trying to not look too pleased under her unfortunate circumstances. She seemed to nod ever so slightly, as if to give hi permission that this was an alright thing to do. John turned slightly to Sherlock, face hard and focused on him. Sherlock bent down slightly, his face inches from Johns and placed the gun down between them. They would at least have that, was John's thought as Sherlock's arms gripped his hips and pulled John forward and into Sherlock's body. This was breaking a new space limit between the two, as Sherlock's mouth was inching to Johns. "John," he muttered, lips closing in on John's.  
It was certainly something that Jon never counted on, kissing Sherlock this long or this meaningfully; even a small moan escaped him as Sherlock's hands explored is back before they broke for air and parted, bot blushing hard as they drew apart, looking expectantly at Moriarty. 

"Well?" John asked, looking at Mary and then at Jim. "You got what you wanted, lets have her."

Jim let out a wicked laugh, shaking his head, "you really think it was that easy? My my. I can see why you both like him so much--he's so _simple._ "

"Yes, alright," John pursed his lips. 

"We've only started," Jim nodded his head towards Sebastian, who handed Mary to Jim and walked towards John and Sherlock. "I'd threaten you to go with my darling tiger, but I doubt I need to." Jim pushed the mouth of the gun into Mary causing a grunt. John was the first to obey, putting his hands above his hands, letting Sebastian blindfold him, next was Sherlock--a little more resistant to the sight restraint, but willing for John's sake. Once both were wearing handcuffs and blindfolds, they were lead by Sebastian to what John knew as northwest, then west towards a door. A slam. "Time to get the game going, Sebby," Jim's voice came by John's ear. 

"Say good night, Johnny-boy." Before John could think of something to say, his consciousness left him.


	6. The wind blows in, pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clouds are forming, and it doesn't look friendly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's taken so long, everyone. As I said in the previous chapter, I'm going through a lot of medical stuff but I wanted to get a chapter done before I get any results from the doctors and have to make choices.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! Next part will be the last part of "The wind blows in."
> 
> PLEASE continue to be patient in my posting chapters. You are welcome to comment if you want!

When John finally regained consciousness, he realized that the use of his limbs were no longer a service he had. Arms tied behind his back and legs tied around the chair he was sitting in, John could do nothing but look around the poorly lit room and wait for whatever was to happen. At first, a lot of nothing happened and then the door opened to reveal Sebastian Moran and his hand gun. "Hello, Watson," he said lowly, stepping into the light. "Been a long time," in the light, John could see more clearly, the scars that ran from the middle of his forehead, crossing his nose and to the middle of his cheek. It was obvious that Sebastian had been hit in the face by the paw of a tiger. Closer now, Sebastian put the gun to John's temple and pulled the hammer back with a smirk. "I want to play, don't you?" He whispered, John merely forced a nod and a whimper. "Now, you be a good boy and let me suck that cock of yours while your wife and boyfriend watch." Just as Sebastian went on his knees to pull at John's jeans, Jim brought in Mary and Sherlock who both were now bound at the wrists, up to their elbows so they would be entirely at Jim's mercy and direction. Sebastian moved John so that both of them could watch Sebastian pull out his cock and start stroking him with the hand that was not holding the gun. John hated it, how _good_ it felt to have a strong hand around him. It'd been too long since another man had touched him and was so good at making him hard. And, he was getting hard, and fast. Soon the gun had left John's temple and was dug into the wound in his left shoulder making his entire body jolt and squirm in pain, but his cock leak for Sebastian to slurp into his mouth. John finally opened his eyes to look at Mary and Sherlock who were Sitting and being forced to watch by Moriarty. Now, it was Moriarty who caught John's eye. Jim's hand was dragging down his own zipper and whipping out his hard cock and stroked himself watching Sebastian suck on John quite expertly until his mouth moved from his very hard cock and clicked the trigger revealing there was nothing in the barrel and making John gasp and groan, trying to move against the restrains so he could just finish the job. Instead, Sebastian rose to his feet and wiped his mouth with the backside of his wrist. Instead of finishing John off, he went to Jim who was still stroking himself, but his eyes were now closed and focused on himself. Sebastian dropped to his knees and removed Jim's hand and replaced it with his own. John watched Sebastian successfully make Moriarty come inside of Sebastian's mouth who swallowed every ounce that was given to him by Jim Moriarty. 

After Moriarty came, he pushed back Sebastian and looked at Sherlock with his hard cock still out, showing it to him. "See that, Virgin?" he taunted. " _my_ pet stayed with me, and satisfies my every need. And what does your pet do?" Sherlock's jaw clenched, not revealing anything and letting Jim have his damn moment, "Get married to an assassin that belonged to me until she founded her fucking morals." Jim turned his head to John, "it was almost like marrying me." He grinned at John who felt like vomiting.

Mary closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. "Oh," Jim sang. "They didn't know, did they, pet?" Mary merely shook her head. "Ooohhh," Jim leaned against the wall, watching Sebastian stand up, scowling at Jim for pushing him back, but saying nothing. "See, before I got Sebby here, Mary was mine. She went rouge for the CIA and then I found her." Jim cupped her face and she didn't dare to do what John knew what she wanted to do. She allowed it. Let him be in charge, John finally caught on. "Oh, she was a bad girl: killing all those people for me. Remember when we first met, at the pool and all those pretty little dots were threatening to kill you?" He shook her face and let it go, "it was her." With a cackle, Moriarty strut over to John and pulled his head back to have their eyes to meet. "You really did love me after all, didn't you, Johnny-boy?" His smile grew more wicked as he forced John to look at Mary. "Kill her."

"Please!" John struggled wildly against his bonds. "Please!" It was no use, Sebastian was walking over to Jim to grab his gun, click back the hammer and shot Mary in the diaphragm, making her fall back into the wall with a whimper. John's heart stopped as he couldn't keep his eyes off of Mary. His wife, bleeding and trying to hold it in. His baby, probably losing blood, too. Losing it's life before John would get to meet it. 

Miraculously, John managed to get out of his bonds and attack Moriarty by kicking him where his cock was still hanging out. once on his knees, John jumped over him and got to Sebastian. He was a harder struggle since he had the gun. Being the soldier he was, he fought until he was able to get Sebastian to the wall and break his wrist to get to the gun. With one swift movement of his arm, John knocked him out. Finally, he was able to get to Mary who was already fading out from the loss of blood. He looked to Sherlock who, thank the gods had enough sense to call an ambulance when he needed to nodded as he described where they were. Thankful for his power of deduction, john could tell Sherlock knew where Moriarty had taken them. 

Once off the phone, Sherlock bent to Mary as well, looking at John who was trying his best to stay calm so he could save his wife. Gently, Sherlock took the gun away from John so he could properly take care of Mary. Standing up, Sherlock waled over to where Moriarty was still doubled over from when john kicked him. He pulled the hammer back. "What if I were to shoot you now?" He asked the psychopath who merely grinned wickedly at him.

"You'll prove you're me," He said lowly, his eyes shimmering, testing Sherlock as if Moriarty never believed Sherlock could truly do something as heartless as what he was threatening to do. "You'll be a murderer." Sherlock's low chuckle sent John's blood to run cold. 

"I already am." That time, Moriarty had truly been dead.


	7. The wind blows in, pt 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final part of "the wind blows in" and a few more chapters until the end.

John's heart plummeted into his stomach, watching the life roll out of Jim Moriarty's eyes and the blood drain from his face and turn grey. Now, he was holding his wife who was shaking and muttering nonsense. Sherlock released the safety on the gun and turned from one dead body and to the one that was still in progress. "John," He started.

"No," John interrupted, feeling for Mary's pulse. "You shut up and call the bloody police," he ordered, his eyes hard on Sherlock, waiting for obedience, and finally getting it When Sherlock sighed and phoned the police. John focused on Mary, putting pressure where it was vital, and watching her. "Please," he whispered. "please stay with me, love.' there was a faint smile on her face, a mischievous one. 

"Can't get rid of me that quick," was her reply before she passed out. 

==

It was hours, but finally, john was in the hospital waiting room, just staring. He wasn't staring anywhere in particular, he was just staring. He had stopped believing in God when he was in the military so he couldn't have been praying. His look was that of despair, as if he couldn't forgive himself if something were to happen to Mary, or their baby. Sherlock was in the chair next to him, completely folded in, knees to his chin and his chin resting on his knees. Finally, the doctor came in and John shot out of his chair. The face was not a good one, John noted. From Sherlock's point of view, John covered his mouth and shook his head. He was emotional. there had to be a reason. Getting up slowly, Sherlock approached Sherlock with a gentle touch to the shoulder. John didn't move, Sherlock knew something was wrong. "We lost the baby," John choked. _Oh._ Sherlock frowned, tightening his hold on the good doctor who was shaking. "Our baby girl, Sherlock. She's--" John turned on Sherlock, his eyes warning of a storm that Sherlock nearly feared, but he didn't let go of john. Instead, he brought the good doctor in a tight hug. After everything, he could do this. He, himself needed the hug, more than he realized, actually. After a moment or so, John stopped shaking and started hugging back, tight. It was unexpected, but good. It was a whole five minutes before John let go with a sniffle. "Thanks," he straightened his back, back to his military self. "Let's see my wife. At least she's still with us." John first, they entered Mary's room. She was still asleep, but John took a chair and stayed by her with his hand over hers. "I could have lost both of them," John said quietly, to Sherlock who was behind him now. "I don't know what i would have done," John's head dropped down to Mary's hand, clutching her now. Within a few moments, she started to stir. 

"See, boys?" She coughed, "can't get rid of this one. You'll have to put up with me." John chuckled, and kissed her hand. It was less than a few weeks that Mary was released and allowed to go home with John. They told John and Mary they could try again for another child, but there was no promise that they were able to anymore because the bullet had ripped through Mary's womb and prevented from killing her. Mary had become very quiet in the last few days, even when she was with her boys, she never really said much. Only drank tea when it was offered by John. It was a full week until Mary would be her sassy, snarky self and it felt as if things had been back to normal. "You know," she said one day when Sherlock was pissy, and John was on the edge of his teeth with irritation, "Moriarty didn't have a half bad idea," she looked at John who looked slightly alarmed. "I think it's time we invite a certain detective to bed." She turned her head to see Sherlock, who was alarmed, and yet oddly interested in what Mary had to say. "Unless, that is," she said, sipping her tea, "you're afraid, Sherlock."

There was a pause until Sherlock cleared his throat and shook his head, "sex doesn't alarm me," he replied, adjusting his bathrobe and stood to go over to Mary, licking his lips. "But, are you sure?" He squinted his eyes, deducing her. "You're still recovering, and John is--" he looked up at John who was staring at the two. "John really needs relief." Mary nodded and smirked, putting her hand up to meet Sherlock's cheek and kissed it. 

,p>"What do you think, John?" She asked, her eyes now on him, along with Sherlock who made John lose it and just nod.

"Right, okay," John agreed, closing his laptop and standing. "The storm's past, and I'm not about to pass up a threesome." John looked at Sherlock, "It still doesn't make me gay." 

Sherlock smirked at him standing and looking deep into his eyes, "of _course_ it doesn't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support and patience with this piece. 
> 
> Sorry it's short, but it's super feelsy and the next few chapters are going to be fun when I can get to it.


	8. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delicious threesome, might uncover some dark secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me this long to get back to this fic, but I promise this very smutty chapter will make up for it!

It didn't take long to figure out what they wanted to do. Since Mary was still in recovery, she sat in the chair that John had placed in Sherlock's room for her, with her legs wide and fingers exploring herself. John wasn't quite sure how experienced Sherlock was in this area, but the sheer look in Sherlock's eyes told him that there was some tension that had build in the other man and it was going to be let out on him. Standing in front of him was Sherlock, neck exposed as buttons were undone in front of him, making his tongue dart out over his lips. This as not a time for a sexuality crisis, he told himself as his heart pounded in his chest Moving his hands up to Sherlock's shirt, hands steady. "John." Sherlock's voice was husky, and right above him. "John." Slowly, John moved his eyes from Sherlock's neck to his eyes. "John, you're staring. And I'm _really_ hard." John's eyes widened, fighting the urge to actually look. Taking his hands, John ripped the shirt off of Sherlock, listening to the buttons pop off and roll across the floor and followed by a deep groan from Sherlock.

John let his hands explore that body he had to admit that it felt nice, the muscles under his fingertips. John had no idea that Sherlock had this many muscles, and they were quite refined. Slowly, his hands moved to his belt, his eyes still on Sherlock. "You're attracted to me," was the first thing that interrupted John' thought's and movement to look into the knowing eyes. "You've always been attracted to me." Sherlock didn't even move to look at Mary, to see what she would say or do. All the focus was on John, and John onto Sherlock. "That's why you basically asked me if I was single at Angelo's." Sherlock dipped his head down, and closed the gap between them. "I wanted to date you, John," he whispered, so only John would hear, "I wanted you to bend me over that table and fuck me then and there--but, I needed you to focus for me." He moved his lips against John's earlobe, lips brushing against the flesh, "And I still think about that when I masturbate. I think about you, John." The words alone had John's mind running wild. He had wished he knew this before hand, and they could fulfill the Yard's suspicions and actually be a couple instead of insisting that he wasn't gay. "Fuck me, John." Sherlock pleaded into his ear, making John groan. 

The single florid movement to throw Sherlock onto the bed was a simple one for John. He had thrown flour bags heavier than he was. Looking at his wife, who was clearly enjoying this, he focused back on Sherlock. He _needed_ to fuck. Sherlock was undoing his own trousers and wriggled out of his pants revealing his cock. John took it all in his memory: it was long, slim and under a mess of dark curls: it was a penis version of Sherlock. Nonetheless, John removed his own clothes and approached the leaking head of Sherlock's cock. Keeping his eyes on Sherlock, John dipped down and took the head into his mouth. The _noise_ that Sherlock made was enough to get John going. He could get used to that sound. Slowly, John took his hand at the base and started a rhythm. Once he got started, Sherlock squirmed from under his mouth, making it more difficult to actually continue and pulled back. "At this rate, I'll have to tie you up to get you to hold still," John teased. 

"Another time," Sherlock whined, reaching for inside his nightstand drawer and throwing a bottle of lube at John. Amazingly, John had caught it, and looked at it. Then he looked at Mary, who nodded in much approval. They would have to have a serious conversation about this later, John noted. Right now, he turned his attention to Sherlock who was spreading his legs quite vulgarly. If it had not been Sherlock, John would have retched. But, his bedroom eyes and the body made John's cock twitch. Of course John's much larger cock wouldn't do right now, oh no. John would tear Sherlock, no matter how often Sherlock masturbated, John's thick cock would hurt Sherlock and John did not intend to hurt Sherlock. Gently, John massaged his fingers, up to his wrist; always the doctor. Gently, John put a leg over his good shoulder so that Mary could have a good view of what John was doing. Gently, John pressed a single finger to Sherlock's opening and massaged there. Sherlock's head dripped to his pillow, making that noise again that sent John's heart into of his stomach. relaxing Sherlock, John stuck a un-gloved finger into Sherlock. Immediately, Sherlock reacted, hips shooting into the air and very loud, unshameful moaning, clutching his opening around John's finger. "Shhh," John insisted, kissing behind Sherlock's knee. "Relax, Sherlock. " John said gently, looking at Sherlock's face. Clearly, John's much meatier fingers surpassed Sherlock's bony ones and Sherlock had not put this into calculation.With his other hand, John stroked Sherlock and this seemed to relax him to the point that John could ease up to his second knuckle, feeling the man stretch around him. It was hot, John gave Sherlock that. Once Sherlock had relaxed again, John make movement, stroking Sherlock and fucking him with his finger. It wasn't hard after Sherlock relaxed and started to trust John more, throwing his arm over his face and wailing into it relentlessly as John fucked harder and harder until Sherlock was about ready to orgasm. "Come for us, Sherlock," John smirked at Mary, who was in so much bliss that her eyes were in a dream state, and turned back to Sherlock who thrust up into John's fist, crying out for the army doctor as he did, spilling all over his stomach, and a little on Sherlock's own face and John's, making John swear under his breath as he gently pulled out of Sherlock. "That was so hot, Sherlock," he praised, getting a laugh from the man who was still hiding under his arm, laboring in breath. 

After John pulled out, he was stroking his cock and turned to Mary. "Your turn," he said to her, reaching for the arms of the chair she was sitting in and pulled her towards him. "I've been dying for you to suck my cock all night," he leaned in and kissed her. "Feeling up to it?" She nodded, and looked at Sherlock. "If I can get some help, yeah," at that, Sherlock slipped from his state and was on his knees in front of John admiring and investigating John's well-endowment. Like John, it wasn't very long. But it was thick and obviously uncircumcised. Sherlock would have to ask or deduce about that later. right now, he was watching Mary lick alongside the shaft. Sherlock had done this before, plenty of times and was actually good at it. Mary looked about the same, very experienced on how she swirled her tongue around John's cock and slurped up. Joining in, Sherlock dove for the balls--one was sunken lower than the other, but only just. Fondling them, Sherlock listened to the moan that John gave off and cataloged it in his mind. There were so many things that Sherlock wondered that turned John on. Wanting in on the action, Sherlock joined Mary at sucking John's cock, each taking turns on who pumped John, and who sucked until John took Sherlock's curls (quite roughly) and started fucking his mouth. As a beginner, the girth hurt his jaw a little, but it tasted so _good._ Finally, John let go and orgasmed onto both Sherlock and Mary's faces, apologizing immediately, going to grab tissues and handed them to Mary, and finding that Sherlock didn't need them because he had scooped up John's come and licked it off his finger. It was the sexiest thing that John had seen, and wanted to replay it again, having Sherlock for a round two. 

Finally, Sherlock helped Mary into his bed and settled her in, and outstretched an arm for John to join them. Finally, John felt Sherlock rest his head onto his sweaty chest and let sleep take him for the night. It was an adventure that John was more than willing to let happen for as long as Mary was open to it. Reaching over to Mary, John found a very cold hand and held it.

He felt. 

It was the absence of what he felt that made everything halt, and his world topple over again.


	9. Guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short ass chapter, because that's the only was I can even finish this thing, finally.

It was a blur to John as they raced to the hospital, the doctors trying to get her back, failing every time. Mary had _insisted_ that she was okay. That she wanted to watch Sherlock and John---John couldn't think about it. He _wouldn't._ he should have known that she'd do that; pretend she was fine, to satisfy him and even herself. He hated this. He hated that---

"Doctor Watson?" He winced. He didn't want to turn and look the other doctor in the face. He's _been_ in that place, he knew the voice. 

"Don't." He shut his eyes, wishing this was all a dream, wishing he could take it all back. If he could, he would. He'd chose Mary. He'd chose a nice, quiet week where she could sit in bed and he could---

"Doctor Watson, please." The doctor's voice was dismal. "Please, look at me. Are you okay?" The hell he was okay! His wife was dead! Dead before they had a chance to have two children, a flat, grow old together--- "John. Please." John turned, his eyes filled with tears, his chest heavy with guilt and regret. Sherlock opted to stay home, and John was glad. He couldn't stand looking at Sherlock right now. Granted it wasn't Sherlock's fault, since Mary was the one that suggested it, but it happened-- "John." John looked into the doctor's sympathetic eyes. "You need to make final decisions about your wife, and sign papers." Nodding, John just turned away, and waited for the papers. He didn't even get to say goodbye, he thought, sitting in his chair. Hours he spent, signing papers, and making decisions on how he wanted his wife buried and where. After a long day, John finally was able to go back to his own flat, away from Sherlock. He sat on the bed, and took a pillow and wrapped his arms around t, realizing that it smelled like her and allowed a sob take over him and muffle it as he finally cried.

It was months that John didn't hear from Sherlock, and if he wasn't mourning so much he would have worried-- _should have worried._ His guilt finally made him pick up the phone, and call Mycroft to locate Sherlock. It wasn't hard, to find him, since Sherlock had not left the flat since Mary died. Not for food, not for a case, not even for the funeral John noted. Ending up at the flat, John let out a breath as he opened the door to find Sherlock on the couch. His right arm down to the floor, relaxed and his left arm--oh, god. The needle was still in his hand, and from what John could tell it was only a few hours since Sherlock used. Nudging Sherlock with his foot, the man opened his bloodshot eyes and gasped at the sight of John, scrambling to hide the evidence that john had clearly already had seen. Hours later, John finally got to yell at Sherlock for this. No one understood the pain of loss more than John Watson, and this, he explained to Sherlock, was _not_ a good way to cope. They would cope together, and he was sorry. At last, John took the man into his arms, and wrapped them around him. 

It took them a year to get Sherlock back off the needle, and John to accept that his wife was gone. At the anniversary, they stood together, hand in hand over Mary's grave; just as Mary had took John's hand over Sherlock's grave. Only, this time, John knew that Mary was not coming back.


	10. Epilogue.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something bad can start something good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **~~TWO YEARS LATER~~**

John had moved back into 221b Baker Street almost a year after Mary died. He couldn't be in the same flat at Sherlock, he stayed at the flat he had with Mary until the rent was due and moved back in with Sherlock. It wasn't until another year that John could even touch Sherlock again, progressing back into having sex with another again, and finally getting married.   
It took John another two years to finally settle in with Sherlock and accept that this was his new life now. With their new adopted baby girl, they dressed for a visit to Mary's grave. This had now become an annual thing. Sherlock found it unnecessary and sentimental, however John found it comforting and still forced Sherlock to go to at least pay respects.   
This year, they had a new addition. Strapping her in her papoose that was latched to Sherlock, John kissed the head of their baby girl: Eleanor Mary Watson-Holmes. Together, they would visit Mary's grave, and solve crimes in her memory. Together, they would be the family they knew Mary always imagined.


End file.
